Carry On
by TheOnlyPotato
Summary: Haymitch and Effie share a moment a few days after the rebellion ends. Rated T for mentions of suicide and some mild cursing.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Carry On by Fun. Nor do I own Haymitch or Effie. *snorts* I wish though.**

**Carry On**

Haymitch could never sleep while he was in the Capitol. Too many bright lights, too many honking horns for him to get any rest. So after lying in his bed for three hours, he decided that he was never going to get any sleep and ventured towards the living area.

That's where he finds her. In one hand she holds a bottle of half-empty wine, the other holds a blade. He searches for blood, any sign that she'd hurt herself. But she just seemed to be playing with it. She was sitting on the windowsill, staring out of the window.

"Effs, you should get some rest," he says. She doesn't even look up, just takes a long sip from her bottle. She wipes her mouth with her sleeve and sighs.

"Fuck, we don't deserve to live, Haymitch," she says, as if they had been having a long argument about it. Her voice sounds weak and tired.

"I never said we did, sweetheart. You need to sleep," he steps forward, reaching for the bottle in her fingers. She lets him take it, but when she realizes he isn't going to drink any of it, she snatches it back. He sighs, sitting next to her. He knows that she's hurting; the rebellion tore her to shreds. She lost her entire family, she was beaten, tortured, placed in the front for everyone to see as some sort of example, and yet she still was here.

He knew he'd never been through hell like that, but he knew what it felt like.

"I'm afraid if I go to sleep, Haymitch, I'll never want to wake up again. Maybe it'd be for the best though, never waking up. Maybe that way, I wouldn't feel so empty."

"And what, Effie? Just leave me here?" He asks. He knows the question is selfish, but he couldn't stand the idea of losing her. He'd let her slip through the cracks one time, he wouldn't let her do it again.

"No… I could take you with me love," she replies. The look in her eyes says she's serious, but he couldn't possibly fathom what she means. And then she reaches in her pocket and brandishes two nightlock berries. "We could go into oblivion together."

"Effie, where'd you get these?" He asks, taking one from her.

"Plutarch gave them to me, right before my trial. He said if things go sour… I didn't use them. But we can, we can use them together." She crawls into his lap, pressing her lips against his. His arms snake around her waist and they lean against the window pane, kissing as if they were really about to die.

"Princess you're not… oh fucking… princess…" She's grinding against him, her body yearning for his friction. He's trying to think straight, but she's doing a damn good job of convincing him. "No," he finally growls, shoving her off.

The look of confusion and hurt on her face burns behind his retinas.

"No, sweetheart, we won't commit suicide. You won't do it alone, either. You're drunk and scared and scarred and you'll never be the same again but you can't kill yourself, princess. I need you," he pauses, gauging her reaction. She's listening, at least. "So I just need you to hold on until it gets better. You'll never be lost and alone, princess. You just have to… have to carry on."

"Haymitch I-"

"No you need to hear this. I love you. There. I said it. I fucking love you. Is that enough? Will you stick around for me?"

"I… Haymitch I love you too," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry."

"It's okay, princess. It's alright." Neither of them makes the move to close the space between them though. They're both so destroyed and shattered. Now they would have to be strong not only for each other and their own selves, but for everyone else that relied on them.

"I have no idea," Effie whispers after a long stretch of silence. Haymitch looks up, but barely. His head feels heavy from all the deep dark thoughts taking their tolls on his mind.

"What are you going on about now, Trinks?"

"I don't know if you're love is enough, Haymitch," she admits, shamefully. "And death seems like such a welcome embrace right now, when everything is complete and utter chaos. I know that eventually things will settle like dust on a mantelpiece, because they always do. But I don't know if I'll make it that long."

Haymitch takes a sharp intake of breath, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games. Haymitch Abernathy, mentor of over 24 dead children and counting. Haymitch Abernathy, the man who fought for the hell of it when he was drunk. And he was crying. He was crying for Effie.

"But I know I'll damned well try," Effie finishes, so quietly that Haymitch barely catches it. He pulls her into his arms, pressing his lips to the tangled mat of blonde hair atop her head.

"That's my girl," he says, rocking gently and willing the tears to stay put. "That's my Effie."

**:O When I sat down to write this, I didn't believe it would turn out so graceful. My god, that was pretty good, if I do say so myself. Tell me what you think?**


End file.
